“But you just can’t ignore—”
“What I can’t ignore, counselor, is the fact that none of those earlier chimpanzees ever had a measurable human age equivalent, and certainly not one came close to a four-year-old. Obviously, in the absence of demonstrable replication, testing bias is a more likely explanation for Cindy’s results than Jaycee’s claim that in just four years she’s opened an unprecedented bridge of human–chimpanzee communication. And frankly, even if there was another person, if she was just using Jaycee’s programming, the bias is all through the code. I can show you examples where—”
“Can’t you just give Jaycee a little more time to either convince you or convince herself?”
“I can’t. I’m between my own rock and hard place. There are many within NIS who feel I’ve been too accommodating to animal welfare interests as it is and that as a result our research has suffered. Under my directorship, NIS has published only half as much peer-reviewed research as my predecessor. That means fewer new potentially lifesaving drugs, fewer surgical advances, a smaller number of new treatment protocols. I took a big gamble on Jaycee and now I’m wearing a lot of egg.”
“But surely you’re not prepared to sacrifice Cindy because of egg. You don’t strike me as that kind of man.”
“I hope I’m not,” Jannick says. “But the truth is, we’re all
supposed to be on the same side. Jaycee came to us to do her work, we didn’t go to her. We’re not monsters. Do you know why chimpanzees are used in biomedical research?” David doesn’t answer him. “We use them because chimpanzees are like us—remarkably like us in many ways. Research on a species that is similar to humans is necessary because it’s more likely to generate results that are relevant. Otherwise you’re just wasting time and life—of those humans that could be saved and those animals that must be sacrificed. This is the sad and inescapable paradox that all primate researchers acknowledge when they come to us—including Jaycee. Chimpanzees are not defective humans and they are not evolving into humans; they are perfectly fine as chimpanzees, and we can and must use them as chimpanzees.”
“That sounds like a very well-rehearsed justification.”
“What you hear in my voice is my own unease. This system isn’t perfect. I realize that. But spend a day on the pediatric oncology floor of a major hospital. I’ve spent months with those kids and their families. Primate research is the best hope we have for that and many other types of diseases. We’ve spent decades looking for alternatives and haven’t found anything even close to the research efficacy of the more developed primates. It’s so easy to judge from the safety of the sidelines. Spend a day with those kids, look into their hollowed-out eyes, listen to their stillness, watch their parents beg for some miracle, and then tell me you wouldn’t do anything humanely possible to save them—even if we must destroy some of these amazing creatures to do it.”
I hear these words and I wonder, not for the last time, if I ever will be free of Charlie—we killed him because he was so like us. His proximity to humans made him relevant and signed his death warrant.
“Then just give Cindy to Jaycee or let her buy Cindy. You can afford to lose one chimpanzee,” David says. “Giving up Cindy isn’t going to bring all biomedical research to a shuddering halt.”
“Release Cindy into the general public? After that chimpanzee attack in Connecticut a few years back? Did you see that poor woman? No hands, no face, disfigured beyond recognition. These are incredibly powerful creatures. Once they hit puberty, they become unpredictable and destructive. And why not? That’s what they were meant to be. You can’t undo millions of years of evolution by putting them in human clothes. We could never release a chimpanzee into the community at large now. Forget it.”
“Then there has to be some other answer besides putting Jaycee and NIS on trial. I know you don’t need the controversy and the publicity. Give me a way to save this chimpanzee and I will guarantee you that NIS will never hear from Jaycee again. No press releases, no television cameras camped out at the entrance, no protests. You can keep on doing whatever it is you do behind your closed doors. That’s the deal—the life of one chimpanzee for Jaycee’s silence.”
While David negotiates with Jannick, Sally loads all three dogs into my Jeep and drives to the Agway. Chip and Bernie immediately lie down in the back. When he drove with me, Skippy usually liked to be my navigator and co-pilot. I see that, once again, Skippy sits in the front passenger seat and looks out the window.
I’ve noticed that Skippy’s attitude toward Sally has become warmer and more comfortable since Clifford has become a fixture in my house. Perhaps Clifford has made Sally seem more permanent and, therefore, more safe. Or, perhaps, it is just about time.
Either way, I’d like to be able to tell you that I feel no jealousy toward Sally about the dogs, but it probably would be more accurate to say that I’m very happy that Skippy is happy and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
After fifteen minutes of driving, Sally signals a left turn into the shopping plaza that houses the Agway, a pizzeria, a hardware store, and a pharmacy.
Once she parks, Sally lowers the windows a few inches for ventilation. Chip and Bernie evidence no interest in moving. As long as they feel safe, the two large dogs are more than happy to nap on a soft car seat.
Skippy, on the other hand, always likes to see and participate in the world—as if he’s aware that every minute for him has more meaning because there will be far fewer of them as compared with other dogs. Sally takes Skippy in one arm and her purse in the other and, after checking twice to make sure that the car doors are locked, puts Skippy in the booster seat of an empty shopping cart and heads toward the store.
You can tell a lot about someone from the treats and toys they give their pets—if any. I’m pleased to see that Sally pushes her shopping cart right past the smokehouse section—the pig ears, hoofs, snouts, and bull penises—without any hesitation, although Skippy does lift his nose in the air for an appreciative sniff.
Sally opts instead for the insanely expensive Greenies and the boilable chicken-flavored Nylabones. She also buys a bag of all-natural dog biscuits and slips Skippy a few as they continue shopping.
Within a few minutes, Sally’s shopping cart is almost full. “Just a few more things, Skip, and then we’re gone.”
Sally turns a corner and what she sees brings her to a hard,
cold stop. It is a huge display—one that I’d never seen before—for
MEMORIAL STONES FOR YOUR BELOVED PET
. The display contains a sampling of a dozen or so “weather-resistant” resin “stones” in a variety of “traditional and modern designs” and “appropriate” colors to “honor your pet.” The display highlights several suggested standard messages but, according to the accompanying flyer, “you can write one of your own for the low cost of $29.95 (up to a maximum of twenty-four words).”
Sally lifts one of the “stones” and weighs it in her hand. She then gently bangs it on the display table. The “stone” makes a flimsy, hollow sound. She tosses the item back onto the display table in disgust.
Sally stoops slightly so that she is now eye-to-eye with Skippy. “I’ll make you a deal. You try to let me know as best you can when it’s time and I’ll make sure that no one puts some cheesy piece of plastic crap with some silly saying over you when you’re gone. What do you say?”
She kisses Skippy on the head and then heads for the checkout counter.
Sally is rung up, paid, and heading toward the store exit in less than five minutes.
As soon as the store door opens, Sally’s ears are hit with the distinctively sharp bark/yap of a Labrador in distress and the sound of bad, loud music. Four teenagers stand around Sally’s car banging on the windows to get Chip to bark. Bernie, who does not have a fighting bone in his body, just whimpers. The music pours out of their nearby maroon PT Cruiser.
Sally plucks Skippy out of the shopping cart and, holding him under one arm, runs toward her car pushing the package-laden cart before her. Twenty feet from the kids, Sally releases the cart with a shove. The cart picks up momentum in the short distance
and then slams into the two kids nearest to Sally. They go airborne and seconds later are moaning in pain on the ground.
The remaining two teenagers turn toward their attacker. The one closest to Sally is built like a linebacker, but has the blunt facial features of someone who pulls the wings off butterflies for fun. “You’re crazy, you bitch!” he shouts at her, taking a step in her direction. In response, Skippy growls and shows his teeth. He actually bites the air a few times and his teeth click together. This freezes the linebacker in place.
“We were just playing around,” one of the kids on the ground whines as he struggles to get to his feet.
Chip, emboldened by Sally’s presence, snarls at the teens through the window.
“Playing around?” Sally says icily. “Okay boys, let’s play.” Sally puts her hand on the handle to the car door. Chip goes wild, scratching at the window with both front paws to get out. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this riled up.
“Don’t let him out!” the second kid on the ground pleads.
“Don’t want to play?” Sally’s question is met with silence. “Then I just have one question for you boys. How fast can you run?” Sally slowly pulls on the door handle. The teenagers scramble for the Cruiser. Sally laughs as they all jump into the car like some circus clown act. The Cruiser peals out of the parking lot even before they’ve slammed the doors closed.
Sally watches the Cruiser until it’s clearly gone for good and then opens her car door. “C’mon, boys. Stretch your legs.” Chip and Bernie jump down from the car. Bernie seems more confused than concerned. Chip is panting heavily, but otherwise he’s back to his normal self. Sally reaches into the shopping cart and gives each dog a biscuit.
I couldn’t have done it better.
And with this realization, I can feel one more mortal bolt loosen.
By the time Sally has returned home with the dogs, David and Jannick have reached the outline of an understanding. NIS will drop all charges against Jaycee, and Cindy will be sent to a chimpanzee sanctuary in California where she can live out her life with the promise that she will not be used in any NIS studies. In return, Jaycee agrees that she will not disparage NIS, will not publicly discuss her work while at CAPS or Cindy, and finally will not attempt to publish any study about her work without advance written approval from Jannick.
“And if Jaycee breaks her promise,” Jannick says.
“Cindy returns to ‘government service.’ I get it,” David says.
“The question is whether Jaycee will get it.”
“I still have to sell it to her, but I don’t see that she has much of a choice. It’s the only way to save Cindy. Jaycee gets a life for her silence.”
David packs his papers and rises to leave. Jannick offers his hand and David shakes it. “It’s not perfect, I know,” Jannick says.
“Nope. But for today, I think it’s good enough. I’ll draft the papers and get a set to the US attorney.”
T
hat night, David made his arguments to Jaycee and, once she heard that Cindy would be safe, she reluctantly agreed to the deal David had negotiated. There was only one condition: Jaycee wanted to be able to say good-bye to Cindy. Jannick told David that this was a terrible idea and David agreed, but Jaycee was insistent. “I want to be able to explain it to Cindy,” she told David. “I want her to know it from me.”
The next morning, David and Jaycee drive to CAPS in silence. They meet Frank in the parking lot, and then all three walk to the entrance where Jannick is waiting.
To his credit, Jannick tries to maintain an air of professionalism. Jaycee, however, makes no effort at collegiality and refuses to shake his hand. Jannick wordlessly escorts them into Jaycee’s old lab.
Thankfully, the Cube and Cindy have been cleaned for the visit, but now that much of the equipment is gone, the lab seems more like a morgue.
Cindy’s demeanor toward Jaycee further accentuates the feeling. She is still, even as Jaycee approaches the Cube. It’s as if Cindy doesn’t recognize Jaycee at first, but then I realize that’s not it at all. The word
betrayal
forms in my mind, and I can’t get rid of it.
“Can I open the Cube?” Jaycee asks.
“I’m sorry, no,” Jannick says.
Jaycee sticks her hand through the bars and begins to stroke Cindy’s fur. A few minutes later, Cindy finally takes Jaycee’s hand and puts it in her mouth.
“Be careful,” Jannick says.
Jaycee ignores him. Cindy licks Jaycee’s fingers and then gently places them on the side of her face. Jaycee rubs the fur there in slow, gentle strokes.
This is too much for Jaycee. She begins to cry.
Cindy reaches out through the bars and touches the trail of tears on Jaycee’s cheek and then brushes away a wisp of Jaycee’s hair.
Cindy offers her doll through the bars to Jaycee. Jaycee shakes her head. Cindy offers the doll again, more forcefully this time. Jaycee folds Cindy’s hand around the doll and then covers it with her own hand. For a moment, human and chimpanzee fingers entwine. The fingers, to be sure, are different, but juxtaposed in this way, they seem entirely appropriate together. The divide just isn’t that big; I can see that even without words, without language.
I glance at David to see if he notices what I do, but he’s staring down at the floor, chewing on his lower lip.
Finally, Jaycee releases Cindy’s hand, and Cindy slowly pulls the doll back through the bars of the Cube. Then Cindy turns her back to us.
Jaycee runs out of the lab and doesn’t stop running until she gets into David’s car.
A few days later, at ten o’clock on New Year’s Eve morning, David and Jaycee wait on hard chairs in the downtown Manhattan offices of the assistant US attorney. They’re waiting to sign the document that will bind Jaycee to her silence and secure Cindy’s life.
At ten thirty-five, David and Jaycee are still waiting. David approaches the woman stationed behind a thick glass window. “Can you do me a favor and check with Mr. Cohen’s office? The meeting was scheduled for ten.”